


Fallacies

by verhalen



Series: Northern Lights [11]
Category: Breaking Bad, Multi-Fandom, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, Worldweavers - Multiverse
Genre: Alaska, Alternate Universe, Bookstores, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover, Gen, Magical Realism, Maglor in the Modern-day, Music, Musicians, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-04 21:59:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18821578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verhalen/pseuds/verhalen
Summary: According to Aaron Paul, afterBreaking Badends his character Jesse Pinkman goes to Alaska and starts his life over again.This story was spawned from a "what if?" plotbunny of Jesse's path crossing with Maglor's, who in theNorthern Lights'verse stays in Alaska for awhile following his breakup with Sören, running a bookstore called Turn Over A New Leaf.IMPORTANT NOTE:While Jesse is here in this one-off, theNorthern Lights'verse is not technically a crossover between Tolkien andBreaking Bad, I otherwise have no intention of writing more of Jesse or working theBreaking Bad'verse and characters into this one. Jesse and Maglor meeting was just a cracky little idea that occurred to me and demanded to be written.





	Fallacies

**Author's Note:**

> The original "Fallacies" with its cringe-worthy lyrics was NOT written by me, it is a canonical song on _Breaking Bad_. I use it here under Fair Use, I am not making any money from this.
> 
> The re-worked "Fallacies" (that Jesse writes after meeting Maglor) WAS written by me. :P
> 
> Yes, the name TwaüghtHammër is canonical.

**2014**  
_Anchorage, Alaska_  
  
Maglor had been in Alaska for several months now - it was October, and "daytime" was more accurately twilight. It was something he was used to from having lived for five years in Iceland, but the population of Anchorage was bigger than the population of Reykjavik, and yet, somehow also quieter. He still wasn't used to the long stretches of no customers from the late afternoon into the evening when he closed up shop, and he was beginning to wonder if he should just keep shorter hours for the winter.  
  
He was reading - he sold books for a living, here at Turn Over A New Leaf, he considered himself obligated to be able to tell customers about new releases if they asked, though this particular bestseller was dreadful. He sipped hot chocolate and let out a little groan as "Policy of Truth" by Depeche Mode came on Pandora, not wanting to think about all the deceptions he'd crafted for his own survival.  
  
The bells on the door jolted him to attention. He watched as a skinny young man, dressed in jeans, boots, and a red plaid flannel shirt under a wool trenchcoat, walked in. He took off his hat, revealing short-cropped platinum-dyed hair. Blue eyes met his.  
  
It was a customer Maglor hadn't seen before. Most of his customers were in fact regulars, and he found the consistency and little interactions comforting, though he tried to not get attached, and didn't let anyone in past an arm's length. Every time there was a new person in the shop, Maglor panicked just a little - he had many good reasons to panic, considering this was the first time he'd set foot in the States since the 1970s and it hadn't gone well for him last time he was here, prompting his departure for Europe. But his gut instinct told him the young man was  _mostly harmless._  
  
Maglor reflected on that impression for a moment.  _Mostly harmless._  
  
"Yo," the young man said.  
  
"Good evening. Can I help you find anything?"  
  
"Uh." The man swallowed hard. "Nah, man, I'm just, like... looking."  
  
"All right. Let me know if you need help. Also there's a coffee machine and a fridge if you want a beverage, just bring it up when you're ready to pay for it." It was a low-interaction, low-maintenance way of providing competition with the coffeehouse-cum-bookstores in town. All he had to do was clean the coffee machine and hot chocolate maker and set them to brew, clean the counter and the sitting area, restock cream, sugar, cups, and the drinks in the fridge.  
  
A few minutes later, the man got a coffee and brought it to the counter. He paid cash, which itself was unusual. Then the man said, "Actually you might be able to help with something."  
  
Maglor raised an eyebrow and waited.  
  
"I, uh. I like this girl, right. She's real smart, she goes to community college and stuff. She reads a lot. I want to be able to, like, have a conversation with her without sounding like such a dumbass all the time. Read some, like, old-timey books and shit."  
  
Of course. He didn't seem like the kind of person who would read just for its own pleasure, he had to be motivated. Maglor nodded. "So you want recommendations."  
  
"Yeah, if you don't mind."  
  
A small smile. "This is literally my job. Come."  
  
Maglor took him into the classics aisle. It had everything from 18th and 19th century authors up to Tolkien, which was as recent as the selection got. And sure enough, the young man grabbed  _The Return of the King_  off the shelf, intrigued by the cover art. "Yo, this was made into a movie, right?"  
  
"It was, but it's part of a trilogy and it isn't the first book in the trilogy." Maglor always felt  _odd_  talking about Tolkien to other people, even other people who wouldn't know he was one of Tolkien's "fictional characters" and Tolkien's work was, in fact, not fictional at all, and he was very much responsible for why that work existed. "Here." He handed over  _The Fellowship of the Ring_. "If you're going to read the trilogy this is where you start."  
  
"This is where it begins, yeah?"  
  
"Well, the  _Silmarillion_  is where it begins, but I don't recommend it for someone who's just getting introduced to the professor's universe."  
  
"Uh... OK. I'll take this, then."  
  
The man paid for it, again with cash, and was on his way out.  _My life is so surreal,_  Maglor thought to himself. Sometimes he wondered if he was just insane, and then he looked at the scar on his palm, relived the bitter memory of how he'd gotten it.  
  
Being insane would be easier than this.  
  
  
_  
  
  
A week and a half later, the young man was back, again when twilight had become nighttime. He got his usual hot chocolate. "You mind if I sit and chill in the lounge for awhile? It's been kind of a rough day."  
  
"No, I don't mind. That's what it's there for."  
  
A few minutes later, Maglor's enjoyment of his Pandora station was interrupted by hearing  _singing_  from the lounge. Not able to restrain his curiosity, he puttered over. The man had a blank journal - one he'd taken from the journals section - and he was writing in it as he hummed to himself.  
  
"Oh, yo, what's up?" The man startled a little. "Yes, I'm going to buy this, and, um, the next book in that series, too. I just... had to write this down while I was thinking about it."  
  
"I understand." Maglor said, though he was a little annoyed that the man was writing in the journal before paying for it. "You're... writing a song?"  
  
"Yeah, ever since I came in here last week I started getting the urge to write music again. It's been a hot minute."  
  
"You're... a musician."  
  
"Yeah, I used to have a band, and shit."  
  
"I see. What kind of music? What was the name of your band?"  
  
"We were a rock band, and the name of it was." The man gave a guilty grin, hanging his head, a little sheepish. "TwaüghtHammër."  
  
"Tw..."  
  
"TwaüghtHammër. Changed the spelling to get around censors. Umlauts over the U and E. Yeah. I was real young and real stupid."  
  
"So you speak in the past tense. You're not in this band anymore?"  
  
"Nah man, that was a long time ago, and in a different state."  
  
"Oh, you're not an Alaska native?"  
  
"Nah." The man looked uncomfortable by that admission and looked away, rubbing his head nervously.  
  
"Neither am I." A pause. "I'm from New England." That was a lie, though he had come to the States via New England... before the United States was the United States. Connecticut, in the 1600s.  
  
"Southwest." The man nodded.  
  
Maglor left the man to his composing, though he kept an ear out. Eventually he was called to the classics selection. "This is the next book, yeah?" the man asked, holding up  _The Two Towers_.  
  
"Yes. What do you think so far?"  
  
"I honestly didn't think I'd get into it at first, but then it sucked me in. I'm really rooting for the Fellowship."  
  
Maglor smiled. "I would hope so." A standard question. "Who's your favorite?"  
  
"Honestly? Elrond. He seems like the kind of dude I would have liked to have as a dad."  
  
Maglor's smile faded. He could feel the brokenness in the young man - a flash of mental images of a troubled home life, being the unfavorite of his parents, the ne'er-do-well... he was in a lab... he was holding a gun. Driving to Alaska, chopping wood under the crisp sky, never to see his family again, feeling utterly ravaged, alone. And Maglor thought of his own brokenness, his own exile, and of course, Elrond, who he'd raised from childhood, thought of as his own son.  _I would have liked to have you as a grandson._  Which was ridiculous, because they didn't  _know_  each other, yet Maglor knew, somehow, they were kindred spirits of a sense.  
  
The man's voice cut into his thoughts. "It's so weird how I was reading this like 'yo man this is boring' and then halfway through I got into it, like 'yeah! Elves, bitch!'"  
  
_I am the son of the High King of the Noldor, have lived thousands of years, have seen civilizations rise and fall, and this is what my life has become. "Elves, bitch!"_  
  
He didn't have enough cash in his wallet when he paid, so he reluctantly pulled out a debit card. Maglor glanced at the name on it - Jesse James Redman.  _That's not his real name._  He got the sense that Jesse  _was_  his real name, but the rest of it was not.  
  
When he handed it back, he said, "Enjoy the book, Jesse."  
  
"Thanks, uh..."  
  
"Mark." A pause. "Mark Lowry." That wasn't his real name either. But it was close enough to it to not cause any slip-ups, and Maglor suspected this Jesse "Redman" was doing the same thing.  
  
"Yeah. Nice to meet you." Jesse put up a hand in farewell, and walked out into the night.  
  
  
_  
  
He was back a few days later, this time just to get hot chocolate and sit in the lounge singing to himself, writing. Maglor tiptoed in.  
  
"Sorry, man. Coming here, like... clears my head." Jesse rubbed his head nervously. "It's like I can music in here better or something."  
  
That wasn't grammatical, but Maglor wasn't going to correct him.  
  
He came back when Jesse was singing louder. Jesse stopped, self-conscious.  
  
"No need to stop." Maglor poured himself a hot chocolate. "Music is good for the soul."  
  
Jesse snorted. "You say that but you haven't heard my old shit."  
  
Maglor waited, and Jesse sang,  
  
_Black is the color  
And beauty is the game  
The beast has come to get me  
But I don't feel their pain  
  
The hotel sign is flickering   
And beckons from above  
The master of my own domain  
I sow the seeds of love  
  
Your eyes burn like daggers  
Through the triumph of my will  
Your hands they smell like gasoline  
They cause my love to spill  
  
Fallacies, fallacies  
All your lies won't set you free  
Fallacies, fallacies_  
  
Jesse stopped. "What comes after it is really cringe-worthy."  
  
Maglor was trying to not make a face. It was already pretty cringe-worthy. "No, go on."  _I need an excuse to drink later._  
  
Jesse took a deep breath and continued.  
  
_The windy wind is blowing and the bedsprings creak their tune  
My cup is overflowing  
Shooting putty at the moon  
  
At the Crystal Palace  
Where I try to make my stand  
My girls all call you Yoko  
Say yer gonna kill the band  
  
"Work makes free,"   
They're telling me  
I've got no place to start  
Oh, how do I escape you  
Little fuhrer of my heart?  
  
Fallacies, fallacies  
Run for you, dead for me  
All your lies won't set you free  
Fallacies, fallacies  
  
Black is the color  
And beauty is the game  
The beast has come to get me  
But I don't feel their pain  
  
I like my Funyuns salty  
Like my Jolly Ranchers grape  
Can't really say I dig the way  
My brain you tried to rape  
  
(I hang out though I know I waste my everlasting soul,  
because I love your crabby patties and you pack a righteous bowl.)  
  
Fallacies, fallacies  
Fallacies, fallacies  
Fallacies, fallacies  
Fallacies, fallacies  
  
War and conflict  
Fallacies  
Clowns and convicts  
Fallacies  
Planets dying  
Fallacies  
Shit multiplying  
Fallacies  
Popes and bankers  
Fallacies  
Spilling tankers  
Fallacies  
Excuse my attitude  
Here comes the hammer!  
  
It's all one big fallacy, yo _  
  
Maglor didn't know whether to laugh or to cry.  
  
"You hate it," Jesse said.  
  
"I... didn't say that."  
  
"Nah man, you hate it." Jesse frowned. "I hate it too."  
  
"Well..." Maglor found himself sitting down in an armchair across from Jesse. "All music, whether good or bad - and whether something is good or bad depends on the listener, it's all subjective... music is work. Speaking from my own experience, I've written songs that I wasn't satisfied with upon completion, and then rather than throw out the whole thing I took the part that I  _did_  like, and made something new built around it." He gestured to Jesse. "I won't lie to you, yes that song was rather cringe-worthy, but the end? You could do something with the end."  
  
"Yeah, maybe." Jesse nodded, chewing on his pen. "I don't know, man." He sighed. "I used to play drums in the band, and someone else was the singer, but I wrote lyrics and music and, like, guitar was my first love. I keep getting the itch to pick up the guitar again but I haven't played since I left Albuq-" He stopped himself from finishing the word "Albuquerque". He cleared his throat and continued, "Like is it even worth it? I'm not gonna be, like, famous with it."  
  
"The point of making music isn't fame. Yes, I think all of us want listeners, want an audience. But first and foremost, we create for ourselves." Maglor put his hot chocolate down and folded his arms, thinking of the end of Jesse's song and how it could be salvaged. "If you made that into a slower ballad..."  
  
"Oh, like some, uh, folk rock Neil Young type shit?" Jesse scratched his head. "Maybe I should get an acoustic guitar instead of an electric guitar -"  
  
"I have some recommendations for guitar models if you do..."  
  
"Aw sweet, you play?" Then Jesse said, "I mean, it seems obvious the way you talk about music, but with that hand and all..." His voice trailed off, aware that he probably put his foot in his mouth. "Shit man, I didn't mean -"  
  
Maglor held up his bad hand. "It's fine. Yes, I can still play, even with my hand being like this."  
  
"Uh... what happened, if you don't mind me asking?"  
  
"War." It wasn't the full story, but it was the only story he'd allow people to know.  
  
"What, you were like, in Iraq or some shit?"  
  
Maglor said nothing, but resumed sipping his hot chocolate.  
  
"Sorry, I shouldn't have asked." Jesse swallowed hard. "You say you've got guitar model recs?"  
  
"I do but they're easier for me to make in-person if I know what the selection is."  
  
Jesse thought for a moment. "You got, like, a day off anytime soon?"  
  
"I close the shop on Mondays and take the day for myself."  
  
"Monday afternoon, you wanna, like... go to the music store with me? Help me pick out a guitar?"  
  
"Yes, we could do that."  
  
_  
  
They had gone to the music store and gotten lunch together. Jesse couldn't stay long, he had to go see his girlfriend, and it was just as well because the social call was still terribly awkward for Maglor, who preferred keeping to himself as much as possible.  
  
But it still was something, a crumb of interaction in a deliberately lonely life.  
  
Jesse came in a few days later with the acoustic guitar. "Thought you might like to hear this," he said.  
  
He strummed and plucked slowly, and instead of the raspy, half-screamed vocals he'd delivered the trainwreck of a song in last week, he sang in a normal tenor, and his voice wasn't bad at all.  
  
_Your eyes burn like daggers  
Through the triumph of my will  
Your hands they smell like gasoline  
They cause my love to spill  
  
Fallacies, fallacies  
All my lies won't set me free  
Fallacies, fallacies  
  
At your heart's crystal palace  
Is where I make my stand  
The beast has come to get me  
Chased me far from my homeland  
  
Fallacies, fallacies  
Run from you, dead like me  
All my lies won't set me free  
Fallacies, fallacies  
  
Black is the color  
You walk in beauty like the night  
I wish I had something to offer  
But all I have is blinded sight  
  
War and conflict  
Fallacies  
Clowns and convicts  
Fallacies  
Planets dying  
Fallacies  
Shit multiplying  
Fallacies  
Popes and bankers  
Fallacies  
Spilling tankers  
Fallacies  
Excuse my attitude  
Here comes the hammer!_  
  
Maglor sat. Anything would have been better than the original "Fallacies", which was risible, but this... went above his expectations.  
  
It hit a little too close to home. It hit a nerve, directly.  _Sören_ , he thought, trying to block out the memory of Sören's beauty. The Silmaril crystals... Fëanor's passion, and Sören's so much like it... Fingolfin standing against Melkor, the corrupted Vala swinging his mighty war hammer.  
  
"You OK, man?" Jesse gave him a concerned look.  
  
Maglor nodded. "I'm OK."  _I will never be OK._  
  
"What did you think?" Jesse frowned. "You hated it, didn't you?"  
  
"No, I didn't hate that at all. It was moving."  
  
"Aw, really?" Jesse grinned. Then he frowned again. "I wrote it from, uh... experience." His frown deepened. "I've been trying to start my life over again, up here, but it means I have to - ah, fuck, I shouldn't be talking about this with you."  
  
"If you're on the run from anyone or anything, no, you shouldn't be talking about this with  _anyone._ " Maglor met his eyes. "Protect yourself."  
  
Jesse bought a copy of  _The Return of the King_ , and then he was gone, not saying a word.  
  
  
_  
  
**May 2015**  
  
  
Maglor didn't expect to see him again, after that. He knew from his own experience that the first rule of running and hiding was that if someone else figured out you were running and hiding it was a good idea to not trust them and maintain a distance.  
  
And yet, one afternoon Jesse did show up. Maglor was surprised, and even more surprised by the pretty Latina woman who came in the shop with him, the baby sling that Jesse was wearing.  
  
"Hey," Jesse said, as if no time had passed at all.  
  
"Hey yourself. Haven't seen you in awhile."  
  
"Yeah, I've been busy."  
  
"You know this guy?" the woman asked.  
  
"Sort of? He encouraged me to write my songs again. Uh, Mark, this is my wife, Nikki. Nikki, this is Mark." He patted the mixed-race baby's head. "This is my daughter, Jane."  
  
It was such a plain name for a girl to have, nowadays. No doubt there was a story behind it. Maglor wasn't going to ask. He smiled at the little family. "Well. Hello."  
  
"We came to get some children's books. I mean, Jane is too young to read yet, but I can read to her, right? Get her off to a good start." He looked at Nikki, who smiled and nodded. "When she's old enough I think I want her to have music lessons too. That's important."  
  
"Yes. Yes it is." Maglor got up from the counter and gestured for them to follow. "Right this way."


End file.
